Boiling Oil
by madame nonchalant
Summary: Meet Kurosaki Ichigo, famed drive-thru window guy of Kanpachi's Fried Chicken, high school student, and boy tormented. Of course, nobody said life would be easy with a job this crazy, and one insane coworker may make it a lot harder than it should be.
1. Business is Pleasure

**One. Business is Pleasure**

Kurosaki Ichigo closed the drive-thru window and readjusted the headset under his baseball cap. Business was slow tonight. The fryer hissed as his fellow co-worker, Grimmjow Jagerjaques, put a basket of chicken into the fryer and did what he did best: he fried it.

This place, Kanpachi's Fried Chicken, was known best for that, and Grimmjow seemed to do a good job of it.

Ichigo sat at the cash register and waited for someone to get desperate enough to pull into their drive-thru. The bell from the front clinked against the door as some family entered and made their way up to the cash register. Ichigo could hear as tonight's cashiers, Inoue and Rangiku, greeted them and began taking orders.

Grimmjow looked idly up at the screen of orders that were streaming in before him.

"Fuck," he said. "They want two wraps. I'm no good at that stuff. Kurosaki, you think you could give me a hand?"

Ichigo glanced out the window. Still no sign of any cars.

"Sure," he said, moving over to the sink to give his hands a quick wash in boiling water. "I guess I don't have anything better to do."

Grimmjow handed him a package of tortillas and took the chicken out of the fryer, letting it drain. "Hey," he said, glancing at Ichigo. "You ever notice how almost everyday it seems like the slit in their polos gets a little lower?"

Ichigo stopped squirting sauce onto the wrap he was making. "What?"

"You know. Those chicks that run the cash registers. I swear, that little slit in front of their polos gets lower every day." He grinned. "Maybe they're just growing like healthy girls should."

"You're sick, man."

"I should be," Grimmjow laughed, wrapping up a few chicken sandwiches. "After all, I work with 'hot breasts' all day!" He threw his head back and clutched his stomach and laughed until tears came out of the corners of his eyes. It was something Ichigo had never seen him do, but yet it came off as something that he naturally _would_ do. It gave Ichigo the chills.

Ichigo tried his hardest to finish the wraps quickly. He'd never liked this guy much, and now he knew why--this kid was nuts.

An order began to crackle through Ichigo's headset and he made his way over to the window.

"Can I help you?"

"CRZZK! I need a chicken bucket and an order of mashed potatoes."

"What size chicken bucket was that?" Ichigo asked, punching buttons on the cash register.

"Twleve piece. The one you have on the value special, here."

"Alright. Will that be all?"

"No. Ummm..."

"Yes?"

"Well...uh...let's see now...can you tell me what's in the Crispy Twister Wrap?"

"What's in a---fuck, is this Ishida?"

Ichigo shuddered. He swore he could hear the sound of glasses being adjusted over the intercom. "Yes it is. Now please tell me, Kurosaki Ichigo, what is in a Crispy Twister Wrap?"

"Aww hell. Grimmjow!" Ichigo yelled over his should. "Grimmjow, what the hell is on the Crispy Twister Wrap?"

Grimmjow forcefully threw some potatoes into the fryer. "I asked you to make them for me five minutes ago and you can't remember? What the hell do you have, Alzheimer's?"

"Just fucking _tell me_!"

"Alright. Like, tomatoes, and lettuce, and um...ah, here, lemme see the cheat sheet. Oh, two cripsy chicken tenders! You got that, Kurosaki?"

"Yeah, I got it. That it?"

"Oh, no. there's also sauce."

"You hear that Ishida? And sauce. All wrapped up in one big, fat tortilla. Now, you want it or not?"

"What kind of sauce?"

"Fuck," Ichigo said as he scrambled off his stool and headed for the freezer. "Grimmjow!" he yelled.

"_What?_"

"What kind of sauce?"

"Hell if I know."

Ichigo stalked back to his stool near the window and sat down. "Ishida?"

"Yes?"

"Don't know what kind of sauce."

There was a faint sigh from the other end of the line. "Fine. Then could you please tell me what sort of secret herbs and spices you use on the chicken?"

Ichigo had to keep himself from punching the cash register. This guy was too damn persistent. "No," he said. "I can't tell you that. Kenpachi would fucking kill me! Why the hell do you even need to know all this, anyway?"

"I have food allergies, Ichigo. I need to know these things. Now, what kind of herbs and spices?"

"Fuck Ishida!" Ichigo yelled, sticking his head out the drive-thru window. He could see Ishida's sleek black car just a few feet away, with a long line behind it. "Listen, there's five...no, six cars behind you! Hurry up and order, or they'll go to that damn Taco Gin across the street!"

"Fine. Give me...a diet soda."

Ichigo punch the diet soda button on the register so hard the table the register was sitting on shook. "Fine. Is that _everything_?" he said through clenched teeth. Ichigo was ready to pummel Ishida. Not because he asked irritating questions, but because he did so like he had all the time in the world and was the only person in the world. That was why Ichigo hated Ishida--that damn condescending attitude of his, like everyone else could wait because he was more important.

"Yes."

"Please pull forward. You total is $12.62 at the window."

Ishida forked over the money and Ichigo presented him with the bucket of chicken, potatoes and the soda. "Hey Chad," he said to the large guy sitting next to Ishida in the car. "You guys just get off work?"

"Yeah," Chad said slowly. "Slow night."

Ichigo smiled. "Here too. Enjoy your chicken." He opened the register for change and shoved a few bills and some coins into Ishida's hand. "_Have a lovely night,_" he said through gritted teeth. Ishida said nothing, just gave him a long, menacing look.

"Yes," Ishida said, half paying attention. "C'mon Chad, let's go to Wendy's. I want a salad, not any of this deep-fried mess. I'm watching my figure."

Ichigo waited until they were gone and Ishida turned the corner and disappeared into the slick black night before he shoved the cash register drawer shut. "Oooh, he's _'watching his figure'_," he snarled quietly as the next order came across the headset.

Ichigo sent it through the monitor and heard Grimmjow curse from around the corner. "Fuck this job and these damn buckets of chicken!"

"Why don't you get a new job, then?" Ichigo shot back, still irritated from being forced to deal with Ishida. "Go ahead. Go quit and find a new one."

Grimmjow was silent for a minute. "Fuck," he said again, and went back to frying chicken. "I don't have time for things like that."

And the final few hours until closing passed just like that. Finally the time came where Inoue locked the doors and began to sweep the floor. Rangiku collected the till from the registers and counted it before sperating it into bags and shoving it in the safe. Grimmjow waved around a few chicken sandwiches. "Anyone want these? They'll go bad otherwise, and it'd be a waste to throw them away."

"No thanks," Rangiku said, her massive breasts threatening to burst from her top as she tied up some garbage bags. "I'm good."

"So am I," Inoue said as she pulled on her jacket and mittens. "You guys are almost done here, right? Mind if Rangiku and I go? She's my ride home."

"Yeah, you can go," Grimmjow said. "We'll be fine." He slid one of the sandwiches across the counter to Ichigo. "Here, you eat it. You're probably starving, right?"

Ichigo took it without thanking him. "A little." He opened the sandwich and looked at it hesitantly.

"C'mon," Grimmjow said, motioning for him to sit down. "I made it. It can't be that bad, right?"

"And that's supposed to make me _want _to eat it?"

Grimmjow grinned. "Watch it, you, or I might be forced to slice off that sharp tongue of yours."

Ichigo didn't have anything to say to that, so he ate his sandwich in awkward silence, only filled while Grimmjow complained about his classes at college, talking for the sake of talking. His professors sucked, he said, and they all thought they were right and nobody else could be right unless they agreed.

"College kinda sucks," he said. "I mean, they tell you it's gonna be so great, but it's not. Though my roommate's not so bad. Kinda quiet, but he's alright."

Ichigo felt obligated to ask something, to make it look like he was paying attention. "What's his name?"

"Ulquiorra Schiffer." Grimmjow said. He smiled as Ichigo attempted to pull off something that would constitute as an interested expression. "I know, it's mouthful, right? Kinda like mine."

"Yeah. I guess." Ichigo stood up and grabbed a rag before he wiped down the table they'd been eating at. He didn't want to deal with Grimmjow much longer. He just wanted to get home, do some homework before he crashed, maybe take a shower if he had the time. "Hey, we'd better change the oil, right?"

Grimmjow followed Ichigo over to the fryers and flipped the switch that drained it into the tanks below. He was so close that it felt awkward, suffocating. Ichigo wanted to move away as soon as possible, because Grimmjow was just standing there behind his, and he could feel his hot stomach against his back. That was when he knew something wasn't right. Ichigo turned and found himself trapped by Grimmjow's arms on both sides. He tried to back up, but Grimmjow stopped him with a smile.

"Don't want to back up," he said. "That oil is hot. Wouldn't want to burn your pretty little face, _Ichigo_."

Ichigo remembered what he'd thought before about this guy being crazy and was sure he was right. If he hadn't be positive before, he was now. And as far as he knew, Grimmjow had never called him anything--_anything_--but Kurosaki before. The way he said that name, _Ichigo_, like it was a threat, threw him off.

Ichigo was sure it made the marrow shake in his bones.

Grimmjow leaned down to put his mouth to Ichigo's ear. "That oil isn't the only thing rather hot around here, is it, _Ichigo_?"

"Fuck off," Ichigo said, barely having the courage to lift his head, and moving his hands to press lightly against Grimmjow's massive torso. He knew Grimmjow might only be teasing, but Ichigo had never been this terrified before in his life. Grimmjow was larger than him, stronger than him, and would be able to overtake him if her really wanted to try anything shady.

"You don't mean it. _You like this._"

"No, I don't. I mean it, Jagerjaques, _fuck off_."

"Using my last name, are we? Too terrified to threaten me properly,_ Ichi_--"

"For fuck sakes, WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Ichigo yelled, finally tearing his eyes from the floor to meet Grimmjow's face. He wanted to go home, home, wanted to leave and run. He didn't want to be like this, in this situation they only talked about in movies, this situation that didn't happen in real life. "For god sakes, what do you want from me?"

Grimmjow didn't move. "Your phone number," he said. "Give it to me."

Ichigo felt like he couldn't breathe. If he lied he was sure Grimmjow would figure it out, he'd come to his house or something, maybe with a knife or--

"Six-eight-nine," Ichigo said slowly as the numbers came to his head. "Seven-three-two-two."

Grimmjow dropped his arms. "Why thank you," he said, taking a battered cell phone out of his pocket. He laughed, but it wasn't like the laugh before. It was a soft, psychotic laugh, the type that showed a side of a person that normal no one would see. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll call you sometime."

"Fuck you," Ichigo muttered under his breath. He was grasping for words now, just trying to get Grimmjow to leave as fast as possible. And however fast that was, it wasn't fast enough. Ichigo's legs were still shaking. He felt like he was barely standing at all.

"Oh," Grimmjow said, turning as he pulled on his coat. "And before I go--"

He turned grabbed Ichigo's shirt and crushed his lips against Ichigo's. He tasted like chicken sandwiches and ranch dressing. Ichigo felt his heart race and the blood freeze in his neck. His chest felt cold suddenly, very cold, and he knew this was what people meant by 'sheer terror'. Grimmjow continued the kiss like that for what seemed like hours, or maybe days to Ichigo, until the breath was drawn out for so long that Grimmjow had to come up for air. When finally let go Ichigo found he couldn't breath at all.

Grimmjow opened the back door and headed out into the cold night. "Bye," he said, barely glancing back. "And thanks for the number, bitch."


	2. Tacos to Go

**Two. Tacos to Go**

The minute Ichigo got home he rushed to check his work schedule for the next week--no, for the next decade. He'd been around long enough to know that Grimmjow took the night shift on Wednesdays, and the Tuesday and Thursday afternoon shifts. Saturday was a toss-up, but Ichigo always worked in the mornings and those were busy days. Even if he was stuck with Grimmjow on a Saturday, there was a good chance they'd be too busy to notice each other.

Ichigo forced himself to breathe deeply as he headed up to the bathroom. It was a weird night, and he knew tomorrow he'd wake up and ask himself if it had really happened. Tomorrow he'd wake up, go to school, and possibly give Ishida a sucker punch to the stomach for that shit he'd pulled in the drivethru.

Yes, that cheered Ichigo up immensely. Ishida geting what he deserved was always a fantasy guaranteed to make him smile.

Boiling water blasted through the shower head. Ichigo began to get undressed and threw his pants and shirt carelessly into a corner. He was just about to get into the shower when his phone buzzed. He froze.

A text message already?

_Did you do the science lab already?_

_-Orihime_

Ichigo slowly began to text back and his heart started beating again. It was one of those times where he hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until he let it out and gasped for air.

His legs were shaking again as he clumsily slipped into the shower.

It hadn't been_ that guy_, but now Ichigo was jumpy. He'd given him the number, and sooner or later he was sure _that guy_ would call him.

The water in the shower was boiling hot, but Ichigo was suddenly chilled to the bone.

He knew he wasn't going to sleep well tonight, no matter what.

xxx

The next morning Ichigo felt like he'd never really slept, just stayed awake the whole night. It wasn't the tired, head-pounding awake--he was actually awake, and felt like he could run six miles without stopping.

And when he got to school, only one thing was out of place: Ishida was not there. And Ishida never missed school.

Even weirder than that was how normally everything seemed to go even though he was absent. He was simply not there on roll call, and then school just continued on as usual, except there was nobody to raise their hand and have an instant answer to the complicated equations set before them.

Ichigo saw something flutter onto his desk halfway through English class. It was a note.

_Hey, _it read. _Are you alright, Ichigo? You seem distracted._

Ichigo looked up and saw Inoue waiting for his reaction. He waved her off and gave her a facial expression that passed for "doing okay". She looked like she didn't really settle for that, but she let it pass without any more notes. She would probably interrogate him later at Kenpachi's.

Then the final bell rang and Ichigo packed up his things and ran home. He still had to go to work today.

xxx

Ichigo got to work late on purpose. By the time he raced in the door and pulled on his visor and took his seat by the drive thru window Grimmjow was already gone and some other kid--Ichigo thought his name was Ikkaku or something--was working the fryers. Still, his heart was racing and he was breathing shaky breaths, like he was going to break down and cry at any moment.

Ichigo's heart finally stopped racing about an hour later, once he had settled in. The drive thru was slow again, since it was only Thrusday, so Ichigo sat and idly changed stations on the radio, trying to find something that wasn't sports news or over-synthesized pop music. A draft was leaking in through the window, making the tips of his fingers numb.

It was damn cold out today.

Finally Yumichika, the guy acting as shift manager for the day, came up to the window and told Ichigo he could go on a twenty-minute break for dinner.

Ichigo grabbed his wallet and jacket and stumbled outside into the unforgiving cold. He didn't want to eat chicken again like last night, not after working around it and tasting it on Grimmjow's mouth. It might make him sick, and he wasn't hungry for it.

That left his only options as the Sub Station next door and the Taco Gin across the street. Ichigo opted for Taco Gin, which was cheaper, so as soon as the stoplight hit red and the little walk sign lit up on the other side of the street he headed out, bracing himself as the wind cut through his jeans into his thighs and made him numb.

He made himself move faster, narrowly avoided some asshole car that ignored the stoplight and he hit the door of Taco Gin with a forceful smack that made his palm sting.

Inside it was warm. The place smelled like hot meat and spice and oil. It was busier than Kenpachi's was, but not by much. Ichigo stepped up to the register, where some small white-haired kid with bright blue eyes was standing, gazing idly at the spinning mobile above Ichigo's head, which advertising a two-for-one burrito deal.

"Hey," Ichigo said, stepping up.

"Hey. You know what you want?"

"No. Just a minute." Ichigo stared at the menu, waiting until he found something that struck him as delicious. "Fine. I'm ready. Can I have the Crunchy Taco Combo?"

"Sure. You want hot sauce with that?"

"Sure."

The kid awkwardly pressed some buttons on the cash register and handed Ichigo a soda cup. "For here or to go?"

Ichigo checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes, but could he eat that fast?

"Uh...here, I guess," he said finally.

"'Kay."

The kid didn't say anything and continued staring back up at the ceiling.

Ichigo waved his hand in front of the kid's face. "Hey. Don't you need me to pay you?"

"Oh. Yeah."

Ichigo smirked. And then, in one of those awkward slips of the tongue, he added, "You look a little young to be working here."

"I'm not."

"Really? How old are you, fifteen?"

"Twenty-two."

Ichigo laughed. "Right."

"No really. I'm twenty-two."

Ichigo bit his lip to keep from laughing again. "You're twenty-two?"

"Yeah." The kid glared at him. "What's so funny? What, you think that just because I'm not quite as tall as you I can't be older? Huh? Is that what you think? Because you're dead wrong!"

"Woah kid. Calm down. Really, is that any way to--"

"Now, now," someone said softly.

Ichigo glanced towards the back of the restaurant and saw a taller man with small eyes and a wide smile standing against a wall. His expression looked bemused, but his voice said otherwise as he came up behind the counter.

"What seems to be the problem here, Toushiro?"

"Don't call me that, Manager Ichimaru, _sir_."

"I'll call you whatever I please and you'll like it," Ichimaru said softly. "Now where are your manners? Take the boy's money and thank him. And from now on, you should use 'please' when requesting what name I call you, Toushiro. It isn't very polite to demand something so quickly."

"Yes, Manager Ichimaru, _sir_."

"Ah, good." Ichimaru took a quarter out of the register drawer and flicked it up into the air before catching it. "Toushiro," he said. "I have a question for you."

"What?"

"_Toushiro._"

"What is it, _sir_?"

"If I toss this coin, what are the chances of me getting _head_?"

"I don't know, sir. I'd appreciate it if you'd put that coin back in the drawer, sir."

"Oh?" Gin pouted and flipped the coin again. "No chance at all?"

"I'm afraid not, sir." Toushiro said through clenched teeth.

"Order up! Order 167, Crunchy Taco Combo," someone shouted from the back, and Ichigo's two tacos were shoved onto a tray and thrown onto the counter.

Toushiro grabbed Ichigo's money and had change for him before Ichigo had even realized the bill was out of his hand.

Ichimaru grabbed the worker who'd brought Ichigo's order up. "Hello Hanatarou," he said sweetly. "Tell me, if I toss this quarter, what are the chances of me getting head?"

The kid looked terrified and scrambled for an answer.

"Uh, a-about fifty p-percent, Manager Ichimaru sir."

"Fifty percent?" Ichimaru said, dragging the kid back to the kitchen. "I like those odds _very_ much."

"Stupid Hanatarou," Toushiro grumbled, slamming the register drawer shut.

"Hey," Ichigo said. "Not to be pushy or anything, but was he just--"

"Yeah, he was hitting on me." Toushiro said, fixing his baseball cap. "Damn pedophile," he added under his breath.

"But you said you were twenty-two," Ichigo said.

"So?"

"So...doesn't that mean he's not a pedophile?"

Toushiro's eyes went wide and confused. "What?"

"Pedophiles only hit on like, young kids, right? So if you're like, twenty-two, then it's legal. So he can't be a pedophile, right?"

"Well, I uh...damn. Listen, just take your cup and tacos and forget you saw that, okay? Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Toushiro hastily grabbed a rag from seemingly nowhere and began wiping off the counter. "Go on," he said. "See? I'm busy. Now move."

Ichigo, realizing the kid wasn't going to talk anymore, took his tray and sat down at one of the cleaner tables near the window. He picked up one of his tacos and bit into it. Sour cream and sauce dripped out onto the table.

Looking at the dripping white sour cream made Ichigo feel sick, thinking about what that Ichimaru guy had said to that Toushiro kid. Still, he was hungry, so he forced himself to eat while thinking out other things...other things which eventually became Grimmjow.

Who, at the very moment Ichigo started thinking about him, walked through the front door of Taco Gin and began to place an order.

Ichigo panicked. He took another bite of his taco and stayed frozen in the corner, heart beating in his throat so hard that he could barely swallow. He stayed like that until the kid from before, Hanatarou, came around to wipe off the tables. He had a smear of something white on his lip.

"Hey," Ichigo said. "You've got something on your face."

He looked up. "Me?"

"Yeah. On your lip right there."

"Oh. Oops." Hanatarou licked it off. "Ah," he said. "It was sour cream. Manager Ichimaru gave me a treat today. I forgot to wash up before I came back out here to do work."

"A t-treat, huh?" Ichigo said, nearly paralyzed. He couldn't decide if this kid was stupid and telling the truth or equally as stupid and lying.

"Yeah, I'll need a diet soda and one of your taco salads," Ichigo heard from somewhere near the front. "And a supreme burrito. And while your at it, give me some of those cinnamon twisty things, too."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, you total comes to--what is it, Manager Ichimaru, sir?"

"Hey Toushiro, did you know that I'm like a rubix cube? The more you play with me the harder I--"

"Yes Manager Ichimaru, thank you Manager Ichimaru." Toushiro said all in one breath, clearly trying to get his superior out of his hair.

Grimmjow laughed, that same laugh he'd done when talking about Inoue and Rangiku's polo shirts. "Ha! Hey, that's a pretty good line there."

"Why thank you," Ichimaru said. "My boy here enjoys my sense of humor, don't you _Toshiro_?"

"Yes sir."

"Mmmm, you should come to the back office later, Toushiro. Yo quiero your ass--"

"My _ass_istance? Yeah. Later, Manager Ichimaru sir." Ichigo watched as Toushiro turned to Grimmjow. "Your total comes to $10.06,"--the register drawer clanged as he opened it and scraped around for coins--"and here is your change. Your order will be up shortly."

"Thanks man. And could you try and hurry it up? I've got someone waiting in the car."

Grimmjow turned to point towards the parking lot, and it was only when he did that he saw Ichigo, frozen in the corner as those bright eyes narrowed in on him.

"Heeeey," Grimmjow said, moving away from the counter. "What are you doing here, _Ichi_--"

"Lunch break." Ichigo said shortly, hoping he could make a dash for the trash can and then the door. "I was just leaving."

"Too bad," Grimmjow said, placing his arms down on the side of the table and leaning over so far he trapped Ichigo in. "I would've sat down and joined you instead."

"Didn't you say you had someone waiting for you?" Ichigo was surprised he managed to say it without his voice shaking from the excitement his body was experiencing. It was fearful excitement, but it still made his heart race and his skin tingle like he'd been shocked. He felt like he couldn't sit still much longer.

"Yeah, but he's not that important. You're more interesting." Grimmjow smiled and gave a soft, psychotic laugh that made the chill go into Ichigo's heart. "Hey," he said leaning closer and reducing his voice to a whisper. "Kurosaki, did you know I'm like a rubix cube? The more I play with you, the harder I--"

"Order up! Order number 169, taco salad, diet soda, regular soda, supreme burrito and cinnamon twists. Order 169, are you--?"

"Yeah, I'm coming." Grimmjow took one last look at Ichigo before he grabbed his take-out bag and headed for the door. "See you at work tomorrow, _Ichigo_."

Grimmjow disappeared into his car and took off while Ichigo sat at his table, legs shaking.

"Hey," Hanatarou said from two tables over. He dunked the dirty washrag in a bucket of lukewarm water and rang it out. "You okay?"

Ichigo couldn't bring himself to answer that no, he was not okay. His mind was racing, and he still wasn't sure why Grimmjow was playing with him, or what he meant by it. All he knew was that it made his sick, sick and shivery to the core. Ichigo felt too hot and too cold all over, and his vision was blurring with wet, fearful tears. His breath was shaky and hollow like a corpse.

"Hey," Hanatarou yelled. "Toushiro, I think this kid doesn't look so good. You think we should call a--"

He cut off as Ichigo leaned over and suddenly vomited all over the floor in one violent burst.

"Aw, man," Toushiro said as Ichigo, who suddenly felt ten times better wiped his mouth off with a napkin and took a tiny sip of his soda, which was bordering on going flat. "Now look what you did. And I'm gonna have to clean up this mess. Manager Ichimaru will pistol whip me if I don't get this properly clean."

Toushiro, who had come over with a mop and some hot water, looked at Hanatarou and raised an eyebrow. "Manager Ichimaru doesn't _have_ a pistol, Hanatarou."

Hanatarou looked at him with fearful eyes and gulped loudly. "I _know_."


End file.
